


Show Me

by goldengoddess



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, ahhhhh its fluffy, figure skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:38:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4260159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldengoddess/pseuds/goldengoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric Fucking Bittle is a 3 times Olympic gold medalist and Jack is a college hockey star looking to join the NHL. Bittle happens to be training for the winter semester at Samwell College, and meets Jack. we're just going to pretend that this is chronologically correct and 1st year happens before the winter olympics!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me

**Author's Note:**

> why don't you try calling jacks cellphone? ;)))))))))
> 
> ok i wrote this at 11 pm after work so i forgot the lil epilogue, but its here now! thanks for your support <3

                “Yeah, I heard he won a bunch of medals a few years back! He’s got mad skills.” Voices chattered from behind Jack Zimmermann. “He’s from Georgia, but he’s training up here-I guess there’s not much ice down there?”

                Three time Olympic Gold Medalist Eric Bittle was training at Samwell’s hockey rink. Of all the hockey rinks in all of New England, he was training here. Jack sighed. The coaches had already made it clear that they wouldn’t get to practice from 4-7 am, and could really only have evening practices for the next four months until winter break. For Jack, this was anything but a cool surprise. He could not care less that a B-list celebrity was training at their school and transferring into classes. It was just a nuisance to their team, his team. “C’mon guys, get serious. You can gossip after practice.” He huffed, backing to face his team. “Whoever this Bittle kid is, well, he doesn’t matter right now!”

                ..

                Jack sat next to a short blond boy in the cooking class he had taken on a whim. _“I need more credits, Shitty.” “Hm, that one looks cool” “I guess”_ He seemed to really be enjoying himself, scribbling down doodles of pies and cupcakes and fervently writing recipes projected on the board. His notebook, a thick red spiral bound stack, was splitting open with cutouts he had printed off the internet and scans of old cooking books. As he licked his thumb and flipped to the next page, Jack couldn’t help but think that his eyes were a wonderfully dark shade of brown.

                But it wasn’t until they had some break to research that Jack found out just how _adorable_ he was. “Hi, there! My name’s Eric, what’s yours?” He shook Jack’s hand and smiled, cheeks smiling and dotted with freckles. He had an endearing southern accent.

                “Jack.” He replied, “Are you new?”

                “Oh, yeah. I wish I could have started school on time, but there was some traveling issues. So I’m getting in a few weeks late.” Eric shrugged, shaking it off. “What recipe are you choosing for the project, Jack?” He looked over at Jack’s notebook, clean except a few shoddy drawings of hockey plays he was planning.

                “Uh, apple pie.” He blurted. Jack silently scolded himself for not thinking it through. He didn’t know how to make pie.

                “Me too!” Eric smiled wide, “You know, I’ve won many a tri-county fair baking contest for my mini-pies. We should bake together sometime!”

                Jack could barely move, “That’d be… sure. Um, Saturday at 10, you could come over. We have a kitchen.”

                Eric stopped, disbelieving, but laughed, “Thanks, can I get an address-or do I have to hunt you out?”

                “Here, I’ll-“ _Oh God Oh God Oh God what am I doing_ , “Write it down for you.”

                …

                Many of the players were gruff and more than a little pissed at the odd schedule for hockey practice that started that week. Jack agreed too, if he saw that Bittle he’d-well, he wouldn’t do anything, but he’d glare menacingly and disapprove from a distance. But the week passed easily and Saturday finally dawned over the university. Jack woke in a state of panic. He had invited a cute boy over to the Haus, one of the, as Shitty called it, “7 Nasty Wonders of the World”, alongside an actual trashcan, a veal slaughterhouse, and Lardo’s brain. He let the image of Eric walking in, and then promptly existing run over in his mind as he stared blankly up at the slanted ceiling. In great disgust of himself, he managed to take a shower and eat breakfast.

                He had told the Hausmates that he would have company over somewhere around ten, so don’t do anything _too_ unscrupulous, but it was hard to keep Ransom and Holster from not hiding the front room while Jack cleaned the kitchen. And just as expected, the doorbell rang out just two minutes after the clock rung ten. Eric smiled when Jack opened the door and greeted him brightly. “I didn’t know if you’d have the right ingredients, so I brought some of my own. Here-“ he handed over a big clear box, filled with spices and oils, and utensils that they probably didn’t need to make Apple pie, “I’m gonna grab the other box and be right in before you can say ‘pie’!” Jack stumbled back as Eric ran out to his car.

                “Is that fucking-“ Ransom said, peeking out from behind Jack.

                “It fucking is!” Holster gasped.

                “I can’t believe you invited fucking Eric god damned Bittle into the Haus.” Shitty laughed, far too loud, snaking in to the short entrance hallway.

                “What-that’s not-“ Jack mumbled, looking back and forth between Eric riffling through his trunk and Shitty’s one hundred mile grin from under his moustache. “Oh my God.”

                “You’ve been fraternizing with the enemy! Jack Zimmermann is a traitor!” Shitty yelled, raising his arms like he had won a new car.

                “The kid we’ve been cursing out all week for stealing out spot is going to bake a pie with you?” Ransom half asked, half laughed.

                “Hi there!” Eric waved with his one free hand as he bounced into the Haus, “Oo, are you guys hockey players?” he asked when he saw Holster’s sweatshirt. _‘Samwell Men’s Hockey 2014’_ it read.

                Holster just giggled, fucking _giggled._ Jack flashed a murderous look, and he tried to conceal his joy. “Jack, you’ve walked into a Chirp Trap.” Holster said.

                “You done goofed, son.” Shitty agreed.

                “Huh?” Eric raised an eyebrow.

                “Just… don’t worry about it. Here, the kitchen’s this way.” Jack pushed Shitty away and walked around the empty doorframe.

                “Done goofed it!” Shitty called.

                “Goofed what?” Eric asked Jack when they were finally alone in the kitchen. Jack looked like he was about to hyperventilate or punch a wall.

                “It’s-it’s nothing.” He placed the box on the counter and pulled off the lid, “So, how’re we going to do this?”

                “Ah, that’s what I’ve been waiting to hear!” Bitty clapped his hands together, “Let’s do this!”

                …

                Jack really _had_ walked himself right into a avalanche of chirps. Monday practice was 50% people giving him shit about not recognizing Eric Bittle WORLD FIGURE SKATING CHAMPION and 50% him trying not to have a fucking aneurism. By the end of the two hour session, he felt ready to launch himself into the sun. But as he fell back into his bed, he felt strangely comfortable with himself and the fact he had let someone help him with something, and the end result was fantastic pie. Even Shitty had to admit that Bittle made some damn good pastries.

                The next afternoon, Jack had his American cooking class again. The teacher talked on their project requirements, than set up a video about classic American foods and new world measurement forms. Two minutes in, and Eric slipped a piece of paper on top of Jack’s notebook.

                _Hey, the student ovens are all reserved tomorrow. Do you think I could borrow yours again?_

Should he let him over again? Of course, that would be the nice thing to do, but did he really want to be ridiculed again? Or maybe the team would get over themselves and act like adults, but that was unlikely.

                _Sure. I’ll be home at two, but we have practice at 6:30._ He looked up at the screen, they were comparing metric to American, and down again at the paper. _Call me if you need to use it again? 985-655-2500_

                _Thank you!!!!!!!!_ Bitty wrote in his round print, along with some stars and a smiley face.

                That night, before practice, Jack looked at his phone. There was only one text, from an unknown number saying _‘Hey, this is Eric, it this the right number? :D’_ , along with a selfie of him throwing peace signs next to a goose on the street.

Jack laughed and sent back a text, ’ _Yeah it’s Jack Zimmermann, nice goose.’_

_‘Thanks! I’ll tell him next time we meet!’_

He groaned, Eric was honestly too cute to be human.

…

So it went like that. Eric coming to the Haus twice, sometimes more, a week, baking too much, and leaving a few pies in the fridge, Jack commenting on strange recipes that came out surprisingly well-and soon learning that anything Eric touches turns into ambrosia. He came to be a regular face in the Haus, so much so that the team had even dubbed him a hockey name, _Bitty_ , “You know, cause you’re small and cute!” Ransom had said, Holster nodding along. He had even come to see a few of their matches, and when he wanted to buy a shirt in support, Shitty gave him one, on the Haus. It was about two sizes too big, but it just made _Bitty_ look like more accurate of a name.

“You know, I’ve never seen you skate.” Jack mentioned one day, leaning against the kitchen counter. Bitty was rummaging through their growing spice racks for nutmeg. “You must be good, eh?”

He shrugged, “That’s what they say. Ugh, there’s not enough.” Eric shook the small plastic tube, only a fraction of the brown powder remained, “Make sure to remind me to get some.” He noted, offhand. He closed the cupboard and sat on the counter, “You could come, if you wanted.”

“Come?” Jack asked, “To your practice? Wouldn’t your coach get mad?”

“Well, she only coaches every other day. Most days I practice alone. Tomorrow’s one of those days.” He smiled, an eyebrow raised in question.

Jack thought a moment, “When do you start?”

                Five am, Jack walked into the Faber skating rink. From the top row of chairs, he could just see down to where Bitty was stretching. He wore black tights and a large knitted sweater. Knowing Eric, he probably made it himself. “Oh, hey! You made it!” Eric waved.

                “Yeah.”

                “Pretty early-but I guess you’re used to it.” He sat down and Jack joined him. “You know, I was really nervous that you’d resent me for taking your guy’s time. I tried to talk Coach Jen out of it, but she had already made the deals. I’m glad you’re a good sport about it, though.” He slid his feet into his skates and laced the white shoes up his ankle.

                Jack looked out the tall windows, it was still dark out. He almost laughed at the uncertainty in Bitty’s voice. Of course Eric wouldn’t have _asked_ to take their time slot, why did he assume that? “Yeah, you’re nice.” He looked over at Bitty who was hanging onto his words, trying to see if he was mad, “I couldn’t see you trying to be rude to anyone.”

                “Well, I see the same in you.” Bitty smiled. He reached into the black duffle bag he brought with him and pulled out his phone and a small speaker, “Can you play this for me? I’m working on a routine.” He stood up and slipped off his sweater, his torso stretched tall as his arms flew upwards.

                He hopped onto the ice and gave Jack two big thumbs up, “Ready!”

                Jack clicked _play_ as he tried to keep his mouth from dropping. Bitty looked incredible in the plain white t-shirt and slim black tights. Beyonce’s voice flew from the speakers and Eric winked at Jack, his hands rising to his hips. He slinked around the ice a few times to warm up, and then began to spin and twirl, and hop. He flung himself into twists and landed on one foot, keeping his eyes to the imaginary crowd as his body spun around.

                Jack let a hoarse chuckle escape his lips as the chorus grew. Of course Bitty liked Beyonce, the song really justed seemed so _him_ _“I can see your halo-halo-halo-oh”_ Bitty whispered to himself to keep time.

                The song rolled out and a new one began.

                The brass instruments rolled in like summer thunder. Suddenly, Bitty’s erratic, high energy moves became a somewhat slow and hot wave of dancing. Slick guitar sung as he performed turned with a leg up, after landing from a jump. Pink Floyd was an odd choice for figure skating, especially for Eric skating, but it _worked_. Jack was both impressed and kind of turned on. And in the last moment, Jack saw Bitty jump into the air and spin almost four times, his arms floating about him, as if he were some sort of angel descending from heaven. The music faded as he landed, eyes close, panting.

                “Did I-?” Bitty said quietly, head still lowered. Suddenly Jack feared something had gone wrong, “I did it! Oh my good Lord! Did you _see_ that? A triple axel! A triple fucking axel!” He shouted, more at the world than Jack. He laughed and rose, arms swinging.

                “Is that-is that a good thing?” Jack asked.

                “Jack, I haven’t been able to do that successfully in four years! I don’t know why! I was just out of it, I guess. But I can do it.” He was still panting as he swung himself through the plexiglass door. “I’m so happy I could-I could-“ Eric looked at Jack and then turned to look at the rink. Small streaks showed where he had been before, some thicker and baring shaved ice. “Do you want to skate, Jack? Oh, you probably didn’t bring them.”

                Jack had brought his skates. They were in his car, but he had brought them. “Give me a second.”

                “Sure thing.”

                In minutes Jack was tying himself into his hockey skates, a bit clunkier and less elegant than Bitty’s, but they would work. Eric grabbed his hand as he stepped in, even though he could obviously get himself in just fine, and pulled him towards the center. Jack felt his ears go hot.

                “Now,” Eric began, “I know you hockey players don’t think you need tricks, but I think you could benefit from a little limberness.” Eric let go and put his hands on his hips. “Do you know how to do a scratch spin?”

                Jack stared at him. Bitty smiled and rolled his eyes, “Watch.”

                He pulled himself around into a lazy circle and then tightened into a spin, slowly; the speed grew until the sound of his t-shirt whipping around was audible. Eric finished by making another small circle. Jack was in awe. Now, he was a good skater, good as any wunderkid could have been, but this was another _kind_ of good. This wasn’t hockey ice skating, this was some new language only related by the fact they both used ice.

                “I don’t think I can do that.” Jack said, honestly.

                “Sure you can-take my hand.” Eric grabbed his and they skated in a long circle, “You’ll go on your outer edge, and hold you leg out, like this-“ His left leg rose up, “When I let go, just try and _spin,_ you’ll do alright. Remember to keep yourself balanced, your leg shouldn’t be off the ground very far. I’ll do it slow.” He showed the spin again. Jack’s eyebrows raised in either nervousness or indignation- he couldn’t tell.

                Jack made the small circle and twisted. He rotated a few times, before slipping from underneath himself and falling to the floor. He felt a strange pain of nostalgia as Bitty helped him up off the ice, like they had done this before when they were kids. “I’m sure you’ll get it if you try.”

                “It’s fine, I don’t think I should be doing triple axels in the NHL.” Jack gave a small laugh.

                “Oh, so you’re going NHL?”

                Jack almost groaned out loud when he heard the question, because he knew what would be next- _‘what team are you looking at?’._ But Bitty did not say that, he just smiled, “That’s really neat. I bet you’re much better at hockey that figure skating, huh?”

He rolled his eyes this time, “Thanks for the compliment. You know, I thought you’d ask what team I would be on. Everyone does.”

“Well I think you should look into getting on Olympic hockey, then. I’d love to tour Japan with you.” He waved his hand, “In four years.”

                “I don’t know about that one,”

                Bitty glided over the ice, making small loops in his wake, “I’ve got a question for you.”

                “Shoot.” Jack followed him.

                “If… if I came back next semester,” He looked dead serious, strange for the small boy,“could I still use your guy’s oven?”

                “Yeah, of course you can.” Jack assured him. “You should think about joining the hockey team, eh?”

                “Hockey? Me?” Bitty was skating backwards, looking at Jack with his hands over his heart in a totally unironic southern prince voice.

                “Yeah, hockey, you.”

                Bitty came to a stop, Jack skidded backwards as to not collide into him. Eric put his finger on his chin and thought. “Then I’d get to use the kitchen whenever I wanted?”

                “Sure, why not?”

                “I’m sold! You’ve got me! Jack Zimmermann, I’m your man!” Bitty clapped his hands together. “Today has been great so far, really, it seems like you just improve my whole day.” Jack was too busy worrying if his ears were too bright red to see that Bitty was freaking out about his own cheeks. “If I win a medal out in Sochi- I’m gonna tell those interviewers that Jack Zimmermann is the best.”

                It was terrifying to Jack that Bitty was inching forward and it was terrifying to Bitty that he was getting too close. “Thank you so much, for supporting me, even when your team says you hated me.”

                “What-who said that?”

                “Shitty said the first thing you said about me was that I don’t matter.” Jack was paralyzed, but Bitty was laughing it off, casually.

                “I-I didn’t mean-I’m-“ Jack began.

                “Don’t worry, like I said, I might have been pissed if it was anyone but you. Besides, here we are, I’ve just agreed to try out for hockey next year so we can hang out more. I forgive you whole heartedly.” Bitty’s hands were on Jack’s shoulders now and every breath felt measured. “Let me prove it?”

                Jack knew what he was asking. Something deep inside him screamed _‘NO!’,_ like he was being asked whether or not he wanted to be violently murdered. But his best part suddenly caught hold of his mouth and he shyly grinned, “Show me.”

                Bitty and Jack swung off the ice, interlocked, laughing through the kiss and onto the benches. Next year would be a good one.

 

....

 

"Jack- holy shit! Get your ass down here it's Bitty!" Shitty screamed. Everyone in the Haus was squished together in front of the television screen. Jack leaned his head in to see they were watching the Olympics. They were tallying up the final scores for figure skating.

Everyone screamed this time when "Eric Bittle USA" flashed at number one. Jack smiled and clapped his hands.

"Eric Bittle, a small town Georgian boy, has won a gold medal for his performance with Beyonce's 'Halo'. Jon, let's go to the interview with this brave young man." The sportscaster said, lacing her fingers together.

"So, Mr. Bittle, is there anyone you'd like to thank for helping you get so far?" The interviewer held a thick foam microphone head underneath Bitty's face.

"Of course I'd like to thank Mama, Coach, and Coach Jen, but I really want to dedicate this to my friends at the Haus at Samwell, they made me feel right at home. And," Bitty looked into the camera, "Jack especially for giving me courage, he's the best."

Everyone was screaming and clapping back. Shitty texted a photo of the team dog piled on the couch to Bitty along with the message "CON FUCKING GRATS BITS!!!!"

Jack sent a more lowercase message: "Loved seeing you perform, you were the best on the rink."


End file.
